Forsake the Sky by Tim Powers

Author:Tim Powers [Powers, Tim]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi, azw3
ISBN: 0812549732
Publisher: Tor
Published: 1976-01-01T05:00:00+00:00

JOHN Bollinger was a religious man and took no part in the sinful society of Munson Understreet. He subsisted on fish and mushrooms and lived in a tiny one-room house that had belonged to his father. He had four books—a bible, a copy of Paradise Lost, the Divina Commedia, and Butler’s Lives of the Saints. He always said, even when no one was listening, that to have more books than that was vanity.

He had heard the explosion during the night, but figured it was just a judgment on someone, and he forgot about it. He was looking at the Dore illustrations in his Milton when, the next afternoon, there came a knock at his door.

“Who knocks?” asked John.

There was no answer, aside from a confused muttering.

Rising fearlessly from his table, John strode to the door and flung it open. Confronting him was the strangest apparition he’d ever seen.

It was, as John was later to describe it to his pastor, “the likeness of a young man, naked and blue-colored. He wore curious shoes, and an indecipherable medallion about his neck on a string, and his hair was cut in a barbaric tonsure.”

“What seekest thou?” gasped John.

“Clothes, for God’s sake. Hot soup. Brandy.”

“Aye, come in. Sit down. Of what order are you?”

“What?”

“What order do you belong to?”

“I don’t belong to any order,” Frank said. Seeing the old man frown, he added, off the top of his head, “I’m an independent. Freelance.”

“An anchorite! I see. Here. You can use this blanket to cover your shame. Will you join me in some fish and mushrooms?”

“Will I ever!”

Half an hour later Frank was beginning to pull himself together. The food and strong tea that John had given him had revived him, and he felt capable now of finding his way back to Orcrist’s apartment. I wonder if he managed to survive that street-fall? he thought. The last time he had seen Orcrist, he was chasing that Transport away from the collapsing street.

He must think I’ve had it, though. I’d better get back quick.

“Thank you for your hospitality to a naked stranger,” he said, standing up and wrapping the blanket around himself like a robe. “I will repay you.”

“Don’t repay me,” John said. “Just do the same some day for some other homeless wanderer.”

“You bet,” Frank said, shaking the old man’s hand. “Can you tell me how to get to Sheol from here?”

“We all go to Sheol eventually,” said John with a somber frown, “and we’d better be prepared.”

“I guess that’s true.” Poor devil, he thought. Brain warped from a diet of fish. A lesson to us all. Frank crossed to the door and opened it. “So long,” he said, “and thanks again.”

It was chilly in the tunnels, and Frank was glad to have the blanket. He hurried southeast, numbed feet beating on the cobblestones, and finally did, as John had predicted, get to Sheol, where he turned left. He was wondering what he’d do if some understreet vagabonds were to attack him, because his strength and endurance were very nearly gone.

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